Ape Escape
by Taiven
Summary: Sam believes the stress of the job has finally cracked his brother when Dean begins claiming that he is being harassed by an imaginary monkey.
1. Chapter One

**Summary: **The Trickster has finally been put to rest, but on their way to find a runaway Impala, the Winchesters begin to encounter weird things on a train. Sam believes the stress of the job has finally cracked his brother when Dean begins claiming that he is being harassed by an imaginary monkey, but is this the Trickster's last laugh?

**Timeline: **Sometime after 'Tall Tales', in which 'Mystery Spot' never happened.

**Rating:** K+

**Warnings:** Mild language.

**A/N: **A shot at lightening things up. I'm a little tired of writing serious stuff. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**APE ESCAPE**

_"Of course I'm crazy, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong."_

- Robert Anton Wilson

* * *

Chapter One

Earwigs and Coffee

"Dude, I'm not-" Dean faltered, letting out an annoyed huff as he glanced away and folded his arms on the tabletop. Uncrossing them again almost immediately, he fixed a glare on his brother. "I already told you how I - how I feel about -" His hands curled into fists as he sat looking incredibly uncomfortable and growing increasingly angrier.

Sam simply smirked, enjoying every moment he was granted in which he could watch his brother squirm under the difficult task of admitting that he was actually scared of something. "How you feel about _what_, Dean?" he asked in false innocence, unable to resist prolonging this sweet moment for as long as he possibly could.

If looks could kill, Sam would have dropped dead then and there. God knew he deserved it for playing dumb and putting Dean through the incredibly gruelling process of admitting and explaining again. The older Winchester had thought once was enough, and even _that_ had been too much, but twice was asking for an ass kicking.

Silently cursing the demon who had caused him to confess his fear of flying the first time, Dean shoved away the thought of landing a hook on his brother's left jaw and narrowed his eyes, growling, "You know what I mean, Sam."

The younger man furrowed his brow in mock thought and let out a long "hmmmm" as he pursed his lips and gazed out the window contemplatively. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders after a few seconds and smiled at Dean, who was almost shaking with rage.

"Don't make me bring up Ronald McDonald, Sammy," Dean threatened through gritted teeth, and suddenly Sam's grin fell. _Damn_. He had him there.

"All right. All right." He held up his hands in surrender, disappointed that his fun had been spoiled but not willing to bring up his childhood nightmares. "I was just joking anyway," he mumbled defensively, and then became serious. "We won't take a plane, but we have to _somehow_ get to South Dakota, which is, may I remind you, four states away."

Dean groaned. "Why couldn't you have at least let me punch the guy before you sent him to his snug new home? I mean, I would have liked to inflict _serious_ _pain_ on the haughty little bitch, but an uppercut would have been just fine..."

Rolling his eyes, Sam popped the last forkful of egg in his mouth and then pushed his plate away. It felt like he was chewing rubber, but after their last hunt he was simply glad his breakfast had not unexpectedly transformed into earwigs again. He could feel the bile begin to rise in his throat as he recalled the horrible memory.

"But good call on the magic bottle, or whatever it was." Dean stretched his right arm over the back of the faded wooden booth, gazing out at the gravely parking lot of the diner. "Although whoever coined the saying 'genie in a bottle' got it seriously messed up. I just wish you could have come up with that solution _before_ the son of a bitch sent my car halfway across the country."

"It only drove across four states," Sam stated, trying to avoid the rant he knew was coming and failing miserably.

Dean pierced his brother with a glare which Sam had no doubt could make young babies cry and small puppies quiver, and maybe had on a few occasions. "_Only_ four states?" Dean asked incredulously, his voice rising to the point that a nearby couple glanced nervously in their direction. "Sam, the Impala drove across four states _without a driver_. By her freakin' self! Who knows what could have happened to her along the way? Not to mention the wondrous fact that a 1967 Chevy Impala cruising on the highway with no apparent driver behind the wheel usually does_ not_ go unnoticed. Now not only do we have to haul our asses to South Dakota, but we have to figure out some way to avoid the media _and_ the cops to find my baby!"

Sam was having a hard time keeping a straight face. He couldn't help but find it slightly comical that just earlier that morning he and Dean had flicked on the television to find a news video of the Impala cruising along the highway by itself. Apparently, drivers pushing along the same stretch of freeway had noticed the car manoeuvring between traffic without anyone behind the wheel, and had called all the appropriate personnel, including several television crews. Now it was all over the news, and herds of people were wondering how the classic muscle car had performed such a feat with no obvious methods in sight.

Of course they'd never guess the answer. Only Dean and Sam knew that the car had been somehow manipulated by a demi-god; a Trickster who they had once believed they had done the world a favour by exterminating. Unfortunately, his death had been another illusion, a fact they discovered shortly after the god had returned for some good ol' fashioned revenge. The days following his triumphant arrival had included earwigs for breakfast, talking furniture, several angry ostriches, a pack of murderous girl scouts, and the sudden surprise that occurred when the Impala had swerved to a stop, sending both Dean and Sam flying out of the passenger side, and then drove off down the road, leaving the two brothers stranded in a cloud of dust.

They had no clue where it had driven off to until that morning, the automobile having cruised across four states until disappearing somewhere in South Dakota. The news teams had lost track of it the night before, after the automobile had eluded all traps set by the police in order to halt its continuous road trip, seemingly with a mind of its own. Dean firmly believed that the car had more than likely come to a stop somewhere within the state after Sam had finally trapped the Trickster. Thanks to Bobby's helpful research and a magic bottle that had been extremely difficult to get a hold of, the Trickster was now their prisoner. Revenge was sweet.

"So, you done eating or what? Because if you don't mind I'd kind of like to get going."

Sam sighed. "Yah, give me a second and I'll see where the nearest train station is."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean held up a hand. "You want to take a freakin' _train_?"

"Got a better idea?"

"Hell yah! I mean there's plenty of good cars right outside in the parking lot, Sam. Those look like _better ideas_ to me."

"Dean, we're not just going to steal somebody's car when we don't need to."

"We've done it plenty of times before."

"Yah, when there was a life and death emergency, and that was _before_ we were fugitives."

"Dude, this _is_ a life and death emergency. My baby is lost somewhere, alone and unprotected and-"

"We're _not_ stealing a car. We'll take a train, and _then_ we'll try to find the Impala."

Dean bit his bottom lip in contemplation. "Cops said they lost sight of the Impala somewhere in Bismark."

"Train's going to Bismark then," Sam stated as he opened his laptop. Dean seemed like he was about to protest but thought better of it, busying himself by asking the waitress for their bill instead.

/

"Damn... demi-god... with his-" Dean sighed heavily, glaring beyond his brother and out the window at the passing scenery. As the train chugged along he turned his stare to the back of the seat in front of him and the shiny bald head peeking out from above it. "-sick sense of humour."

"You're not afraid of train accidents, are you?" Sam couldn't help let the remark slip past his lips, but he immediately regretted it as Dean sent him another one of his piercing glares. Remaining silent, Sam stared down at the closed laptop cradled on his lap, hiding the small glimmer of a smile on his lips.

"I just want to get to Bismark, find my car, and then bury that bottle in some godforsaken place where that son of a bitch can rot for eternity," grumbled Dean as he watched the man in front of him scratch his hairless head. "And I want to do that without _you_ cracking jokes every second at my expense."

Sam didn't respond verbally, even though he found his brother's snappy remark a little unfair since two hours had already passed in which no joke had been uttered and Dean had been left to brew over his predicament in peace. Instead, he went over a few comebacks in his mind, knowing they would never be spoken aloud but enjoying them all the same.

At the same time, Dean was wondering if it was possible to see his own reflection in the bald man's head. When he felt his eyelids begin to droop, having obtained little more than three hours of sleep in the last few days combined, he stretched and yawned in an attempt to stay awake. Turning to Sam, he announced, "I'm getting some coffee. Want any?"

With a shake of his brother's head, Dean made his way into the aisle and towards the small compartment in the back where free coffee was supposed to be located. The uneven rocking of the train made his journey a little difficult, but he soon found himself alone in the narrow room. The coffee wasn't the greatest, but it sure beat most of the black sludge that seemed to pass as coffee these days. He breathed in the smell, his senses already sharpening, as he turned to go out the door and back into the main compartment. However, a scurrying sound behind him caused his feet to stop immediately. Through basic instinct, Dean whipped his head around, his body in a slight crouch as coffee sloshed from his cup and onto the floor.

His eyes darted across the room, searching the shelves that held various canned drinks and the table which supported the large hot water canisters and packets of coffee. However, the noise did not present itself again and Dean could find nothing amiss. Reluctantly turning back around, he reached his hand out to open the door when something suddenly hit his back and fell with a small _smack_ to the ground.

This time Dean simultaneously placed his coffee mug on the nearest surface as he swirled around and held his hands up in a fighting stance, his eyes searching the small room for his attacker. Still, nothing had changed but a packet of coffee that now laid by his feet.

"This freakin' train better not be haunted." he grumbled to himself as he walked slowly down the room's aisle, looking behind some of the cans stacked on the shelves. "I've had to deal with enough poltergeists in my lifetime." He turned around, now viewing the compartment from the opposite end. "You hear me?" he suddenly shouted, making sure his voice was low enough not to be heard by the passengers in the next room. "I've destroyed plenty of poltergeists! Ghosts, demons... you name it! So if you value your pathetic existence then stop messing with me! _Now_!"

Dean wasn't exactly one for patience, and he began stomping back down the aisle as he became determined to enjoy his coffee while he waited out this boring train ride in peace. Well, as much peace as he could gain when sitting beside his brother. But fate seemed to have other plans, for just as he reached for his coffee mug, a loud crashing noise sounded from behind him.

He swirled around once more and was enraged to find the broken shards of a mug scattered across the aisle, far away from where its brothers and sisters were cluttered in the corner. "That's it!" he yelled, now uncaring whether he could be heard in the other room. "You really want to do this? Then come on! Give me your best shot! Face me like a _real _man." He hesitated for a moment. "Or real ghost. Or... whatever the hell you are."

Another coffee mug came flying at him, almost crashing into his skull but missing his left ear by a millimetre before shattering against the wall behind him. This time he saw where the object had been thrown from, and he immediately flung himself towards the spot, determined to get a glimpse of his attacker, if it was indeed visible.

There was a loud screeching sound as he looked behind one of the giant water canisters, and suddenly another mug was obstructing his view.

"Jesus!"

The mug went flying over his head as he ducked, colliding with one of the shelves and sending several cans falling forward along with a hundred pieces of ceramic. There was another shrill noise and Dean looked up from his crouching position to stare into the black beady eyes of a small monkey, the little creature's teeth bared in a snarl.

"What the f -"

The monkey let out a shrill screech, suddenly throwing itself at Dean's face where it began to pull at his hair with tiny hands. The Winchester panicked, taking a few stumbling steps back as he tried unsuccessfully to shake the monkey off. "Get off of me you little - Ow!"

It suddenly scurried over his head, jumping to a nearby shelf and knocking over another can. He watched as it squealed, practically dancing on two feet as it clutched its trophy in its hand: a tuft of Dean's hair. "What the hell _is_ this?" Dean asked no one in particular, an expression of disbelief on his face as he rubbed his head. He found himself wishing that the train had been haunted after all, preferring to have to deal with a ghost rather than _this_ freak show.

He was contemplating whether he should try to capture the little pest and return it to its owner - _who the hell brings a monkey on a train anyway?_ - but before he could go through with the decision the creature ran along the shelf and exited out of an open window, climbing out of sight. Dean was left in the room alone once more, pondering whether the monkey had been there to begin with.

"This is freakin' insane," he muttered to himself while he continued to rub the spot where the monkey had pulled at his hair. He looked around the room, the place now a mess, and decided that it would probably be wise to leave before anyone came in and blamed him for the destruction. His mug of coffee had fallen during the short-lived struggle and now lay splattered across the floor. Dean stepped over it as he passed through the door and into the main compartment of the train.

Luckily, no one seemed to have heard anything of the battle. Except for a baby who was looking up at him with wide eyes from one of the seats, drool streaming down its chin, everyone seemed calm and relaxed. By the time Dean made it back to his seat Sam was already sleeping, his head leaning against the train window and his long bangs concealing his eyes. The older Winchester considered waking him up with a flick of the ear but then decided against it, preferring the silence over the jokes he would surely receive once Sam found out he had just been attacked by a monkey.

_Maybe a nap isn't such a bad idea..._ Dean thought to himself as he sat down. Since his idea of coffee had been abruptly spoiled, he leaned his head back on the seat and prepared to catch a few hours of sleep. However, just as he felt himself drifting away, a small tapping noise pulled him back.

At first he didn't know where it had come from, and he looked into the aisle to his left and then up above at the overhead luggage compartments. Then he heard it again, a '_tap tap tap_' that was coming from his right. As he swivelled his head to find its source he found himself staring at a familiar face.

"The little bastard!" he found himself hissing between gritted teeth. The monkey was outside the window, hanging upside down from its tail and knocking on the glass with a tiny fist. It was almost as if it was taunting him, and Dean suddenly had a flashback to the show _The Twilight Zone_, particularly an episode called 'Nightmare at thirty thousand feet'. He had to remind himself that this wasn't a plane as he felt his pulse quicken. To calm himself down, he shook his head and flipped the monkey off.

The little pest seemed to get the message as he bared his tiny sharp fangs and hit the window again, this time scurrying up his tail and disappearing out of view. "Yah, you better run!" Dean felt like shouting, but he refrained for the sake of his sanity.

Just then, Sam awoke, his head righting itself as he rubbed at his eyes. "I fell asleep," he mumbled, obviously only half awake.

"Yah, you did, and while you dreamt of encyclopaedias and soft porn I was having coffee mugs flung at me."

That seemed to wake Sam up fully, and he turned his head to stare at his brother with a confused expression. The puzzlement broke into a smirk as Sam said, "Were you harassing some poor girl in the coffee compartment, Dean? Trying to charm her with your amazing wit?"

Dean scowled. "No, Sam, I was not. It was a monkey who was doing the throwing."

That wiped the grin from Sam's face better than any comeback Dean could have thought of. Now he looked _really _baffled. "A... monkey?"

"Yah, you know, little furry creature with a curvy tail, beady eyes, little nose, tiny _sharp_ teeth, and more grabby than a perverted old man. Ripped out some of my hair, the little bastard."

"_Right_..." Sam drew out the word as he nodded his head slowly, still staring at his brother but with a new expression. It looked a little similar to concern. "A monkey."

"Jesus, Sam! Do I have to clarify it for you again? Yes, a monkey, okay? A monkey!" Dean realized he was yelling a little too loud as he received a few glances from the other passengers, many mimicking Sam's current expression. Sighing in frustration, Dean leaned back in his chair again and closed his eyes. "Never mind. Forget about it, okay? I'm sure it'll scurry back to whoever was dumb enough to bring a monkey on board in the first place. Right now all I want to do is sleep."

Thankfully, Sam said nothing, and Dean was relatively sure that he'd be able to survive the rest of the train trip as long as that damn monkey didn't show its ugly mug again. Unfortunately, for a Winchester things rarely went as planned.

* * *

**To be continued.**


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Feathered Hats & Strip Poker

It was only half-an-hour later that Dean awoke from his nap. A baby in the back of the cart had begun screaming, and Dean grimaced as the shrill sound hurt his ears. These were the moments he was glad he didn't have a kid. Giving up on any hope of enjoying the remainder of his rest, Dean stretched in his chair as he glanced over at his brother.

Sam was on his laptop, probably reading something to expand his encyclopedia of weird. As he leaned over to glance at the screen, Dean realized that today's topic was Tricksters. "Anything else we've got to know about him?" he asked.

"Not really," Sam mumbled, only partially concentrated on answering. "I'm just going through some legends, wondering if we can find out where others have buried Tricksters in the past."

"How about at the bottom of the ocean?" Dean suggested. "Marianas Trench sounds perfect to me."

"Bobby said water will corrode the bottle," replied Sam. "We have to bury it somewhere dry."

"Then the Sahara desert. Sounds good."

"Let's be realistic here, Dean." Sam gave him a sidelong glance. "You wouldn't be up to taking a plane there, and taking a boat isn't the greatest alternative since we'd be surrounded by water." He turned back to his laptop screen. "And we're both kind of wanted felons. Trying to get out of the country wouldn't be the brightest move, not to mention trying to get _back in_."

"All right, so the Sahara Desert is a no go," Dean agreed. "Then somewhere in the Colorado Desert. That's relatively close. We find my baby and then we drive there, get rid of the bastard for good." He patted the red knapsack sitting between him and his brother. Inside was the jar that contained the Trickster. Burying it was the only way to ensure the demi-god wouldn't be able to escape, according to the instruction manual that had come with the thing (aka. Bobby).

"We'll see." Sam shut his laptop, slipping the device onto his seat as he stood up. He hit Dean's leg. "Move. I need to use the washroom."

Dean swung his legs into the aisle, leaving enough space for his Sasquatch brother to squeeze passed. "Yes, your majesty," he grumbled, shoving Sam away as the train lurched and he almost landed in his lap. "Just hurry up. We've gotta decide what to do with this bottle."

As his brother headed in the direction of the coffee room, Dean found himself quickly becoming bored. Outside there was nothing to look at but passing wheat fields and sleepy country towns. The train chugged past a herd of brown cows, their tails swatting at flies in the still heat.

_Why do trains have to be so slow?_ Dean thought to himself. He missed the feel of a wheel moving in his hands, the shift of the gas pedal beneath his foot, the gust of wind through his hair. Moving Sam's laptop, he switched seats. Momentarily struggling to pull down the train's window, he stuck his head out into the cold flow of air, closing his eyes in an attempt to imagine he was in his Impala. Just coasting down the road, Metallica blaring in the speakers…

He sighed. He had never had the greatest imagination, and it was failing him now as it reminded him he was not in his car, but on a train. He opened his eyes, frustrated, and found himself staring into the familiar black beady eyes of a small monkey.

Dean did not hesitate to reach his arm out of the window and try to snatch the thing from its perch on the side of the train, but it was too quick. It climbed over the roof and disappeared. "Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, his voice quickly carried away by the wind. The monkey reappeared a few meters away, on the side of the next cart. He seemed to wave, reaching a skinny arm out, and then disappeared through a window.

_It's mocking me_, Dean realized incredulously. He retracted his upper torso from the window, ignoring the perturbed expressions of his fellow passengers, and zoomed down the aisle to the adjacent trolley. Upon crossing the bridge outside, he entered the room through a sliding door, his body buzzing with adrenaline. He was going to catch this monkey if it was the last thing he did.

He scanned the room quickly. Nothing but a booth of old ladies dressed in those large, feathered hats and 19th century clothing that he didn't think were still worn seriously these days. They were toasting to something, all clearly a bit tipsy as they raised glasses of red wine into the air. "To living large!" one of the women said.

Dean didn't give them much more thought as he began to search the cabin more thoroughly, searching for the little furry devil that had led him in here. He checked underneath the seats, almost losing his balance on a number of occasions as the train rocked from side to side. He stood on his tiptoes to peer into the luggage spaces. He even made a point to inspect every window to ensure the little creep wasn't hanging around outside.

He was so engrossed in his hunt that he didn't realize he had encroached on the old women's party until he felt a hand grab his ass. He immediately straightened, having been bent over to check beneath a booth, and turned to face the grannies.

"My, my," one of them – possibly the harasser – said with a wry smile. She had a thick set of white hair beneath a plum-coloured hat with two ostrich feathers poking out from its wide brim. "What taut, firm buttocks."

Dean didn't flush easily when given the attention of a female, but with all of these old women grinning up at him, he was sure his face had turned bright pink. He cleared his throat, planning to ignore the abrupt harassment, but the woman grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him down onto the seat next to her. She was surprisingly strong for her age, and Dean had been so caught off guard that he didn't even give up a struggle. Instead, he stared at the little old lady with wide, unbelieving eyes as she turned to one of her companions across the table.

"Doesn't he remind you of Harry when he was young, Madeline?"

"Oh, indeed," replied another woman dressed in yellow with a white mesh veil falling across half her face. "Though I have to admit this one is much more handsome."

"I do have to agree with you, Agnes," another in blue commented. She reached across the table and placed a gloved hand on Dean's forearm. "He has strong arms. Look at his bulging muscles."

"I bet that's not all he has that bulges," Madeline threw in, and the group of ladies burst into laughter.

Suddenly recovering from his shock, Dean smiled uncomfortably as he drew in a deep breath, trying not to make eye contact with any of the women as they openly stared at him. "Um, I'm really sorry but I'm actually looking for something," he got up from the bench. "Uh, someone. Yeah, someone. I've really got to go."

"Oh no you don't," Ms. Plumb said as she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back down. "Not until you have a drink with us."

There was a round of cheers and agreements, and suddenly a wine glass was being pushed into his hand. Dean wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation, so he relented and downed the entire thing as the ladies toasted to "fine looking young men who make you feel alive again". He brought the glass down with a _thump_ and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to grimace. He never had liked wine, especially the red kind.

"Thanks for the drink, ladies, but I really have to be on my way-"

"You're drinking and splitting?" Agnes cried out, her face full of horror. "Those can't possibly be the manners of a strapping youth such as yourself."

Dean was flabbergasted. He opened his mouth to protest, perhaps to explain that _they _were the ones who had forced him to drink their wine, but no words came out. The women seemed to take his silence as a sign that he wasn't leaving, for they all beamed and Madeline even clapped her small hands in glee.

"Good, now who's up for a game of poker?" Ms. Plumb asked.

"Only if it's strip poker!" one of them called out, causing another bout of laughter. Dean looked around in panic, wondering how the hell he had gotten himself into such a weird situation. He knew he could easily stand up and walk away, but the grannies had a certain air around them that made him terrified of entertaining the idea. He could just picture one of them grabbing his ear and scolding him, but not in a grandmotherly kind of way. He rested his chin on his hand, cursing himself for being scared of little old ladies.

As Madeline dealt out the cards, Dean looked longingly towards the entrance he had come through. Sam was probably wondering where he had gone, and wouldn't being caught playing strip poker with a bunch of ladies thrice his age be good fuel for more of his jokes? Dean shivered at the thought.

Twenty-five minutes later and Dean was down to his boxers and one sock. The Winchester had always prided himself on his hustling abilities, consisting primarily of both poker and pool, but these women were putting his skills to shame. What made matters worse – or better – was the fact that the old ladies had on so many accessories, it would require a hundred rounds before Dean saw some skin. Ms. Plumb – or Amelia, as she had asked to be called – had on twenty light scarves _at least_. Not that he was complaining, but being the only one partially naked was a little unnerving.

"I fold," Dean said meekly, dropping his cards onto the table. The women cheered as he reached beneath the table and removed his remaining sock. He was damn glad he had decided to wear his boxers instead of boxer-briefs today. Less for the women to gawk at, though they weren't going to protect him for much longer. If he lost another round he was screwed.

Oh the humility… He watched as another hand was dealt, swallowing anxiety as he looked at his and found a row of crappy-ass cards. His only chance was to bluff, but that Agnes had a keen eye. She'd be able to spot his act in an instant. "That's what living with four fibbing grandchildren does for you," she had said the first time she had caught him in a lie.

Several of the women folded, including Amelia. Dean looked over his card at Madeline, who was staring back with a set of crinkly narrowed eyes. She was one to watch out for too. "I raise two articles of clothing", she said, garnering a few gasps.

"But what about poor Dean?" Amelia asked. "He only has his undergarment left."

"I'm sure we can work something out," Agnes said, winking at him from behind her veil. Dean swallowed tightly, not wanting to imagine what that could possibly entail.

"I raise it to three," he stated, making sure his voice did not betray any of the panic he felt.

Agnes' expression transformed from flirtatious to suspicious in a millisecond. She raised her chin, looking down her nose at him. "I think you're telling a fib, Dean."

He matched her stare, knowing it was the only chance he had. "Try me."

"Oh, I intend to." She smiled, setting her cards face-up on the table. A straight flush. Dean went pale with dismay as the old woman cackled. Madeline cursed a very unlady-like curse as she threw her cards down, accepting defeat. Dean's hands shook as he looked down at his hand and then back at the straight flush spread out on the table. It was his doom. The cards slipped from his fingers as his skin went numb, revealing his incomparable set to the rest of the table.

"Off with his clothes!" Agnes yelled as she stood up and pointed a crooked finger at him. Dean felt like he was being sentenced to death as all of the women turned to him expectantly. Really, this just wasn't his week…

/

The door slid open and Dean shuffled in. Sam had been wondering where his brother had run off to, determining he had probably spotted the monkey again and had gone bounding after it. Judging by his sullen expression, it seemed he had failed to catch it again.

As he sat down, Sam gave him a one over, noticing that his shirt was crumpled. "You get in another fight with that monkey?" he asked.

Dean turned to him, obviously pissed. "Dude, there is a _freakin'_ monkey on this _freakin'_ train and I'm going to prove it to you. _Then_ we'll see who's laughing."

"I'm not laughing, Dean," Sam reassured him, wondering what exactly had gone down. "I'm actually beginning to believe you might not be as crazy as I thought."

"I'm not craz-" Dean stopped midsentence, Sam's words obviously not the ones he had been expecting. "Wait, what?"

"I've been doing some research while you were… you know, battling it out with the monkey." Sam turned the open laptop sitting on his knees so that his brother could peer at the screen. "Looks like Tricksters don't usually work alone."

Dean's eyes skimmed the page. "You've got to be kidding me. _Familiars_? Demi-gods have _familiars_?"

"Only a handful of them. Most don't, which is why they're rarely mentioned."

"So that ninja monkey thing is the Trickster's familiar?"

"Looks like."

"Perfect, that's just…" Dean folded his arms over his chest. "Perfect."

"It must be after the bottle."

"Of course it's after the bottle, Sam. It tried to take off my head to get it. It's trying to free its master."

"Well, you saw it again, didn't you? Where did it go? You were gone for a pretty long time, so you must have chased it pretty far."

Dean seemed to hesitate. "I, uh… It got away."

"Well let's hope it shows itself again soon. From what I've read, these things can be pretty damn tricky. Sometimes even more so than their owners. The only good thing is they usually don't take the violent route, but they can put people into some pretty bad situations."

Dean looked at him with that stare he always got when he felt awkward and irritated at the same time. "You mean they have powers too?"

"Yeah. The powers differ with each animal, but it says here they can manipulate reality. Not to the extent of their masters, but they can influence the way people act, how they think. They might not turn a bunch of girl scouts into a violent horde, but they _can_ turn them into a rebellious group of daughters who prefer to smoke and drink over selling cookies."

"Could one change a group of nice old grandmas into a pack of lusty, ravenous animals?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at the strange question, but shrugged his shoulders in response. "Yeah, I guess that's possible."

Dean's expression darkened as he stared straight ahead, his focus seeming to be somewhere in his mind. His fists tightened by his sides. "That monkey is so dead."

* * *

**To be continued.**


End file.
